Chapter Text
Darcy's eyes snapped open, and for a moment he could not account for the crushing weight in his chest. Then the memories of yesterday flooded in, and he groaned, throwing an arm over his face.
Elizabeth hadn't come to tea, and the wave of emotions he felt at leaving Kent without seeing her one last time had swept over him so fully he had found himself knocking on the parsonage door before he had known what he was about. And when admitted, her spirits were so low at their impending separation - so he had assumed -that he had declared himself.
The rest of the day he only remembered as vignettes in a great blur. Elizabeth, spewing hatred from her eyes; stumbling from the parsonage, invective ringing in his ears; furiously writing copies and copies of a letter to explain how wrong she had been; tucking the final copy into the breast pocket of his greatcoat before falling exhausted onto the bed. He didn't remember taking the time to undress, certain he would never be able to sleep again. But apparently he had.
He glanced at the amount of light in the window and hastily dressed. His valet entered the room but Darcy waved him away. "No thank you, Wallace - I will attend to myself this morning. You may save your fussing for after my morning constitutional. Please make sure everything is in order for today."
"Of course, sir." He bowed his way out of the room.
Darcy left the room in haste, grateful he was the only early riser in the house. Even his cousin was happy to lounge in a soft bed when he had the chance, though he had confided to Darcy that he woke at dawn each day, claiming the choice to return to slumber was all the sweeter for it. There would be no frivolous conversation to endure as he made his escape.
At first he directed his steps to what he thought of as their glade, where they met each time and walked together. Teasing woman! He fumed, attempting to channel the bleakness in his heart into anger. Anger he knew and understood. He could control anger. But he soon realized the likelihood of her returning there was as low as his own would have been, if he didn't have a written defense burning a hole in his pocket. His steps slowed as he considered where she might go instead, and angled that direction.
As he walked, he tried not to have any thoughts at all. They all led to his dashed hopes, and he needed to keep his wits together. He would hand her the letter, bow politely, and leave. Never to see her again. He forced himself to breathe.
Then she was there, bonnet in hand, sun glistening in the dark tresses of her hair. Her green dress showed her figure to advantage, and Darcy drew in a sharp breath at the pain and joy just seeing her inspired. He should not love her. He would never have her.
"Miss Bennet," he called, grateful that his voice at least still obeyed him.
She turned with a polite smile and dropped a curtsy. "Mr Darcy," she greeted him.
He had braced himself for her scorn, ruthlessly quashed a longing for her regret, imagined twenty ways she might greet him - but he had not expected this, this…polite indifference. His already broken heart shattered into dust. How could she be so unaffected when his entire world had been tipped on its side? Dammit man, get yourself together!
"Would you do me the honor of…" he fumbled inside his pocket for the letter.
She looked at him, and his stomach flipped as he thought he recognized concern in her eyes. But no - he had been so wrong about everything else, surely he was wrong in this too. "Mr Darcy, are you well?"
He laughed bitterly. Would he ever be well again? Where was that blasted letter? He was patting down every pocket.
"Truly Mr Darcy," Elizabeth - no, he must think of her as Miss Bennet - continued. "You look…agitated."
Darcy stopped fumbling in his pockets and wiped his hands down his face, stifling a groan. "Forgive me, I - I wrote you a letter explaining things, but -"
"A letter?" She drew back, looking as surprised as she had yesterday when he declared himself. "Why would you write me a letter? Impropriety aside, it is not as if we have not had the opportunity for speaking, little though you have availed yourself of it."
He could not interpret her look. He had misread her before but still couldn't believe she would use outright mockery.
"You did not leave this letter lying around, did you?" she said nervously, when he remained silent, then shook her head. "No, I am sure you would not be so cavalier with either of our reputations."
"I assure you," he forced himself to reply stiffly. "I would never force you into a union you did not desire. Despite what you believe, I am not so lost to gentlemanly behavior as to stoop to that." He turned away slightly, clenching his jaw and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself under regulation. He would not snipe at her like a petulant child! "Am I given to understand you would listen if I defended myself from your accusations yesterday?"
"Yesterday? What is it I accused you of yesterday?"
Darcy turned to face her fully, searching her apparently befuddled expression for any hint of dissembling. "What are you about, madam?" he demanded coldly.
"What am I about?" she repeated, her eyebrow raising in that beguiling manner. "Mr Darcy, I am completely unaware of any accusation I made in our conversation yesterday, although I would barely term our silent time as such." Her expression grew concerned again. "Truly sir, you hardly look yourself. Whatever is wrong?"
She stepped forward and lightly put her hand on his arm. Between her touch and the kind if wary look in her eyes, it was almost his undoing. To stop himself from falling to his knees and begging her to accept him, he stepped back out of her reach. He reached for his anger again. "I do not appreciate this game, Miss Bennet. Will you listen to the truth of Wickham or not?"
He could not track the expressions that chased each other across her face, but she composed it into a sort of cautious confusion. "Mr Wickham?"
The innocence in her tone set his teeth on edge. Darcy stared at her in nothing less than shock. He had been wrong about her feelings - apparently he had also been wrong about her character. That she would don a mask of naivete - that she could feel so little about him as to pretend yesterday had simply never happened. Thank god he had mislaid that letter! Such a woman did not deserve the truth. Let her think the worst of him. He would do her the courtesy of the same. "Miss Bennet," he bit out icily, turning his mounting fury into cold control. "I understand I mortified your feelings but I thank you not to dissemble about such matters. I had thought you to be interested in the truth, but I see I was mistaken."
Her fine eyes flashed - no! Think not on her eyes! - and she lifted her chin. "Mr Darcy," she spat his name, "I know not what offense against you I have committed, other than daring to be merely 'tolerable' in your presence on first acquaintance. If I have managed civil behavior until now, I wonder at you striking out at me in this way! What provocation can you claim?"
Darcy was pacing by now. "What provocation! What provocation, you say! I never expected to lower myself to lay eyes on you again-"
"Lower yourself!"
"-after you so contemptuously declined my offer of marriage, and not only do you insult my honor but you pretend -"
"Marriage! Your offer?! Sir, you are -"
"Yes, yes," he snapped. "I am the last man in the world you could ever be prevailed upon to marry. You need not repeat yourself, madam, I remember it well." He spun on his heel to leave.
"Mr Darcy!"
He did not turn to take a last look. He did not take his leave. He would cut out all love for the enchanting siren out of his soul.
He left.
He should have remembered sooner what sirens do to the hapless sailors they successfully bewitch.
-o-
Darcy strode through the hall of Rosings at a punishing pace, hoping to gain his rooms without running into anyone. If his valet had finished packing his things, he would take quick leave of his aunt and begone from this wretched place. His hopes were dashed by the steward.
"Mr Darcy," the man began. "I was wondering where you were. Are you well? It is not like you to be late - not that I am condemning you, by any means -"
"Late?" Darcy struggled to moderate his tone, but he had little patience with Mr Wood at the best of times. And this was perhaps the worst time he had ever had in his life. "We had no meeting this morning."
The older man frowned. "My humble apologies for misunderstanding, but I had thought we set a time to discuss the reports of the roof inspection…" he was panting as he hurried to keep up.
"We met yesterday. Let the results of that meeting stand. I cannot imagine needing another."
"Yesterday?" Mr Wood stopped walking. "Sir, yesterday was the inspection, we did not -"
"Any competent steward would know how to move forward," Darcy snarled over his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving the man alone with his spluttering.
"Wallace, you have not even begun packing?" Darcy surveyed his room in dismay. What had happened to his well ordered life?
"Packing, sir?" Wallace looked slightly puzzled. "There will be time enough tomorrow."
Darcy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "We are not leaving tomorrow, we are leaving today. As soon as possible. I will find Fitzwilliam." He turned to leave.
"Would you like to change first, sir?"
Darcy stopped, mentally cursing. He did not have the patience to submit to Wallace's ministrations. "Not yet. Prepare a traveling outfit, I will change after I speak to my cousin."
Richard was not in his rooms, or the study, or the library. Darcy did not want to risk any room his aunt might be in, so he stood in the front hall as he debated if it was worth going outdoors. Would nothing in this infernal day be easy? It was with relief that he saw his cousin enter the house.
"Richard," he greeted him tersely, trying to keep himself from gritting his teeth. "Are you prepared to leave?"
His cousin looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I will be prepared to depart as planned."
Darcy blew out a relieved breath, then guarded his features as Richard examined him closely. He was startled when his cousin abruptly turned and ordered "Come with me." He felt he had no choice but to follow.
Richard led him into the library and shut the door before going to pour two brandies.
"Isn't it a little early even for you?" Darcy observed as he took a glass - but when Richard turned back to pick up his own, Darcy downed the whole thing at once, welcoming the burn. He had kept his wits about himself last night in order to write that blasted letter - he would take great pleasure in burning it, he really would - but he was ready to be home in his study, senseless to the world.
His cousin, good man, did not remark on Darcy's already empty glass. He just refilled it with an impassive gaze. "I met Miss Bennet in the park."
The offhand comment burned Darcy in a different way.
"She mentioned she met you as well," Richard ventured when there was no comment.
"Did she?" Darcy choked out. "And did she say anything of note?" He turned away from his cousin, avoiding his probing eyes.
"She mentioned she was worried for you."
Darcy scoffed. "She is all kindness." He could not keep the scathing sarcasm from his tone, and winced at how much it would reveal to his insightful cousin.
Who was suspiciously not interrogating him as usual. Darcy ventured a glance. Richard was not even looking at him, but at the fireplace. "She was quite upset, actually. She attempted to hide it, of course, but she admitted that you both lost your temper." There was a slight question in his voice, but Darcy just scowled. "I was astonished when she made comments about your mutual dislike, when I could have sworn you felt differently."
Darcy slammed his glass on the table. "To what end does this conversation tend, Richard? What purpose does this serve?"
His cousin looked at him mildly. "I was merely wondering what sort of conversation to expect when the parsonage party comes to tea this afternoon."
"Again?" Darcy burst out. "Is there no peace to be had?" He shook his head. "It matters not. Let our aunt invite them to live here for all I care, we will be on the road well before tea."
Richard raised his eyebrows. "Whatever do you mean? We are not set to depart today."
Darcy glowered at him. "Why is no one prepared today? We will be leaving as soon as may be."
His cousin sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee, seemingly at ease, but Darcy could see his narrowed eyes. "And if I do not wish to depart?"
Your selfish disdain for the feelings of others…He snarled, knowing it was impolite to take his frustration out on Richard but unable to help himself. "As you wish! Stay here with the sparkling company - you may bring my carriage at your leisure!" Darcy stomped to the door.
"You will not even stay for tea?"
"The devil take tea!"
-o-
Darcy fell into his own bed, exhausted. The ride to London had been punishing, he had not eaten much, and the single glass of liquor he had downed upon arrival had been enough. He rejoiced that Georgiana was still ensconced in Matlock house. Thank god he was home.
This nightmare of a day was finally over.